


Out of Touch

by MistoElectra



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Connor Deserves Happiness, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Everybody Lives, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, but he improves, jared is kind of a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistoElectra/pseuds/MistoElectra
Summary: Connor Murphy had already attempted suicide twice._________________________An AU where Connor lives, exploring his life and his new 'friendship' with one Evan Hansen.





	1. Connor Is Wrong

Connor Murphy had already attempted suicide twice.

The first time, he’d been fifteen years old and he’d locked himself in the bathroom (or he thought he had anyway) with a bottle of pain killers that he’d nicked from the downstairs medicine cabinet. He’d more or less downed the entire bottle and waited. He didn’t remember much after that, but apparently the thump of him hitting the floor had caused his mother to decide to come check on him. She’d found him like that apparently, unconscious on the floor, seizing and vomiting and had screamed before calling 911.

He’d spent two weeks in the hospital before they would discharge him and his only visitor had been his mom. They didn’t want to disturb Zoe, they said, even though he knew that was just bullshit to cover the fact that Zoe didn’t want to see him. Zoe would have preferred if he’d succeeded.

Hell, he would have too and part of him still frequently thought that a whole lot of shit could have been avoided if he’d just remembered to lock the goddamn door.

Larry didn’t visit either, not after the first time. **Fucking Larry**. Connor had barely been awake an hour and they’d already gotten into a screaming argument about how he was selfish, how he just wanted attention and how he needed to grow the fuck up and get over himself. The words stung, they always did, pressing just the right buttons to ignite the fiery rage that always seemed to burn within him, just below the surface at almost all times. He hadn’t always been so angry, but the more he thought about it, the less memories he could recall where he and his dad had actually gotten along.

The second time he’d tried was a year and a half later. Long enough that he had hoped that his mom wouldn’t suspect anything so that at least this time maybe he could off himself right. Somehow she couldn’t see, not really, that their whole world would be so much better without him in it. There’d be no fights and Zoe would get to be the perfect only child, and mom wouldn’t have to shoot him disappointed looks every time she smelt the weed from his bedroom.

He’d chosen the bathroom again, more out of practicality than sentimentality. The bathroom would be easier to clean. Granted, they’d taken the lock off the door since his last attempt, but it was the middle of the day and mom had gone off on some yoga retreat with her rich friends. He’d skipped school, much to Larry’s annoyance, but the older Murphy had muttered under his breath before going on to work. Zoe hadn’t even looked at him before leaving for school, but he could tell she wanted to make a jab.

And he waited.

He couldn’t risk one of them having forgotten something and coming back, couldn’t risk being found again, so he waited. Waited until the middle of the day before moving into the bathroom, slipping out the razor blade that he’d nicked from Larry’s replacements. He’d used it before...but never for as much as this. He’d even laid down in the bath to help contain the mess.

And yet again, his plan hadn’t fucking worked.

Because, of course, of all days, Zoe had been sent home sick from school. Of course, Zoe had come up to the bathroom, the bathroom that no longer had a lock. And Zoe had screamed and screamed and screamed, he could remember it faintly, if he really concentrated on the memories. The next thing he’d known, he’d been in hospital again, and they’d banned anything from his room that he could use to hurt himself. Three weeks in hospital later, he’d been allowed home and shortly after, back to school. Back to snarling at whoever crossed his path, to doing his best to avoid those who would taunt him, because contrary to some opinion, he wasn’t actually the biggest bully in the school. Rather, he just wasn’t discriminatory as to who he would lash out at should they get in the way of his rage. He heard the whispers.

_Psycho._

_Freak._

_Most likely to become a school shooter._

_That weirdo who threw a printer at Mrs G in second grade._

The last one still sparked ire, because of how much bullshit it was. He hadn’t thrown it, he’d shoved it off the desk because what eight year old can heft a printer? And he hadn’t thrown it at Mrs G...truth be told, he couldn’t even remember if she’d been near the printer when he’d pushed it but apparently it had landed on her foot and he’d been suspended for a month after that. He’d hated elementary school. He’d hated middle school too, of course, and high school was equally shitty. It was why he’d wanted to avoid the first day of school. The first day was always the worst, was when all the worst comments came, comments about appearance, attitude, about anything they could point out really. Then his anger would spark up, and next thing he knew, he’d be hauled down to the principal’s office again. Really it was easier to just avoid it. The rest of the year he could pass largely unnoticed and avoided. But not the first day and especially not the first day of senior year.

He’d been right about that.

He’d barely stepped into school and Jared Kleinman, **fucking Jared Kleinman** , had decided to play poke the psycho and had made a comment about his hair, as if it was all some sort of joke, as if it was funny that he was calling him a freak. As if he was much higher in the social hierarchy of the school. And to top it all off, Evan Hansen of all people had laughed at him. The one person in the school who was probably below him in the social standing, because at least he fought back. Hansen was a squirming ball of nerves who couldn’t even speak to the old lunch lady, never mind anything else. And yet Hansen was laughing at him.

He’d snapped.

He’d run off to behind the art department, to get some air, to attempt to get himself back under control. He couldn’t sit through English anyway, no matter how much he enjoyed reading. And so maybe when he’d thought about it a little more, he’d figured that he’d maybe overreacted a bit, certainly towards Hansen anyway. Kleinman was a dick, but Hansen? He was a tag-along, but he didn’t seem that bad.

So he’d went to apologise. Hell, he’d even been vaguely nice about it, had even signed the kid’s cast- in large block capitals because the chance of Evan ever managing to get the words out to ask someone else to sign it were about as minimal as the chances that Kleinman wasn’t a dick- but then he’d read the printed letter. And he’d seen Zoe’s name. Apparently even Evan Hansen was laughing at him. Apparently Evan Hansen wanted in on the taunting as well and Connor hadn’t been able to take it anymore. He was angry and he was tired and it needed to **stop**.

So he’d went home. Spent the majority of the afternoon getting as high as he could on the roof, avoided his mother’s smothering and then went back into his room and grabbed a belt, studying the support beams. It would work better this way. Even if they found him, it was likely he’d have broken his neck. They wouldn’t though. It was a common occurrence, him not coming down for dinner. They’d given up coming up to drag him down.

This time he would be left well and truly alone and he’d finally succeed in something for once in his life.

Connor Murphy was wrong about that.


	2. Larry

Larry Murphy had been excited when they’d found out they were having a son. A boy of his own, someone he could run around with, someone he could play football and all that with, take fishing, all those sort of things like he’d done with his own father, the father-son bonding idea. He had it all planned out, knew all the teams and practices in the surrounding area and beyond, had the perfect idea of what Connor would do with his life.

So when Connor was born and cried almost every time he was placed in his father’s arms, it was safe to say that Larry was a little disheartened, but not discouraged. Things would change; they just had to shift Connor out of his momma’s boy attitude a bit.

Something which was easier said than done. Even at a young age, he’d been a relatively quiet boy. Despite all of Larry’s wishes, Connor just wasn’t interested in going to softball practice or to little league or to anything like that, seemed to actively detest it to the point where he would try and hide from Larry when he knew it was time for practice, and he’d thrown tantrums at them on multiple occasions. Larry was determined though, and it took until Connor was almost seven before he gave up even trying. Zoe wanted to do it. Zoe wanted to do everything and so he took to Zoe to all her classes- to ballet, to music lessons, to softball.

And he was disappointed.

Disappointed because he’d had such dreams and plans for Connor. Plans for him to be part of these teams, to follow sports like he had and to get a scholarship to a good college. And Connor couldn’t care less. Connor would only cry and embarrass him in front of the other parents and their kids and refuse to go back. He’d given him so many opportunities but Connor wasn’t interested.

Larry didn’t know how to connect with his son.

He didn’t understand Connor.

The only time he’d felt he’d actually connected with Connor had been when he’d chosen a remote controlled plane for the boy for his birthday. It was the first present he’d picked himself that his son had actually shown interest in, always opting more for the ones that his mother picked- sissy presents he thought, Connor needed to toughen up a bit, not be encouraged otherwise he was only going to get picked on in school. But this time, Connor had actually devoted time to studying the box with rapt attention before tentatively plucking it out of the box to try it out. He’d played with it for hours out in the back yard, getting the hang of the controls and flying it around and around until he’d been called in for dinner, and then he’d begged to go back out again, spending the rest of the evening with it.

Connor had loved that plane, had been so excited to bring it to the orchard so that he could fly it around the wheat field down by the creek. Zoe had, seeing the delight her brother got from the toy, asked if she could play with it and that was where things went downhill. Connor’s mood had darkened, insisting how she couldn’t because it was his toy and she was too little- she’d only break it. After listening to the growing argument the entire way there in the car, Larry had snapped that Connor would let his little sister play with it for a little while at the start. Larry would help her so that it wouldn’t get broken, and Connor had huffed but reluctantly agreed after the threat of it being taken away entirely. Once Zoe had taken her go, he could play with it for the rest of the time.

When they’d settled down, the seven year old had reluctantly handed over the toy, his bottom lip wobbling somewhat, but Larry had told him to buck up, that he needed to learn to share and not throw a fit every time he had to do so. If he didn’t behave, they’d turn around and go home and they wouldn’t go to the orchard again. That threat had quietened the boy who had sunk into the picnic blanket with a frown, but no other resistance. Zoe, it turned out, was better than expected at the controls and so was expertly manoeuvring the plane around, to the point where Connor was even watching raptly with a tiny smile on his face.

Until Zoe insisted that he have a go and he realised he had no idea about the controls.

Still, he’d ruffled her hair and taken the controls from her. And two seconds after he’d gotten it into the air, he’d accidentally crash landed it into the creek. There had been a shriek behind him and next thing he’d known Connor had been hurtling past in an attempt to save his precious toy, splashing into the creek fully dressed and regardless of the fact that he couldn’t damn swim. Larry had had to drag him out kicking and screaming, but the boy didn’t seem to want to see reason and had been lashing out left and right. It had taken an hour just to quieten him, and that quiet had only lasted an hour until Zoe had made a comment about the plane.

And Connor had hit her.

Larry had seen red at that, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him back towards the car, raised voice clearly audible as he told him off. He was not to hit his little sister, never and he was going to be grounded for the next month. They’d never returned to the orchard after that, and looking back, Larry supposed it had been the beginning of a downwards spiral. A month later Connor had been suspended for two weeks for throwing a printer at his second grade teacher. He’d tried to make excuses, but Larry hadn’t been hearing any of it. He’d been so embarrassed, so angry, so disappointed in his son. And they’d only drifted apart further and further as the years had gone by and Connor had gotten angrier and more reckless and more determined to cause trouble, while Larry had gotten more exasperated and fed up and disappointed in his son’s behaviour. In his eyes, Connor was wasting every opportunity that he tried to give him without a care. He was selfish and bratty and bad-tempered.

Well, perhaps the bad temper was the one thing Connor had inherited from him, not that he’d ever admit it. It didn’t help that Cynthia smothered the boy either, practically catering to his every want and never having the guts to actually punish him when he acted up. They needed consistency and a firm hand, and that was never going to happen if Cynthia kept it up. She had to stop coddling him, especially when he got high and banged on his sister’s door screaming and threatening to kill her.

When Connor had ended up in hospital after overdosing on painkillers, he’d been angry and terrified and confused all at the same time and had no clue how to deal with it. So he’d squashed it all down, gone with his usual facade of irritation and exasperation, because that was how he dealt with Connor. It was an attention ploy, he told himself, Connor’s way of acting out.

It was far easier to rationalise it as that, to convince himself of that than to swallow the idea that his son wanted to die.

A year and a half later, and they were back in the same situation. A different means, but they were there nonetheless, and after how he had convinced himself of Connor’s attention seeking the first time around, it had been all too easy to slip back into that, to get angry and refuse to even go to the hospital. He refused to see Connor like that, refused to give him that attention. The boy was a pothead, and any remaining hopes that Larry might have had about him ever following that plan he’d had were down the drain. At this rate, he’d never amount to anything except maybe a jail cell. Cynthia had insisted that some retreat she’d found would be perfect for Connor, that maybe it would help him recover and get out of the drugs, so he'd reluctantly forked out the cash.

Connor had been kicked out after a week.

There were hardly days that went by when the two of them didn’t have a screaming argument over something or other. The drugs, his schoolwork, his attitude in general. There were countless things. That morning had been no different. Connor had come to breakfast high, refusing to go to school. Whether he’d shown up or not, Larry couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. It was a waste of breath. Connor didn’t care what he thought, wouldn’t listen to what he had to say. When he returned from work, he didn’t even bother to enquire where Connor was. The boy would come down from dinner though, even if he had to physically drag him down.

He’d not realised that he’d have to drag him down from more than his room.

When Connor hadn’t come down from a dinner, his only response a thump from the floor, Larry’s anger had ignited once more and he’d stormed up the stairs.

Knocked at the door.

_No answer._

Tried the door.

**_Locked._ **

It should have set off warning bells, but he was too irritated, and after trying again had put his shoulder to the door until it had opened, ready to yell at Connor.

But Connor had been hanging from a support beam, his body spasming and for a moment they locked eyes.

Shock had set in and he’d rushed forward, grabbing his son around the waist and hoisting him up, one hand desperately reaching for the belt around his neck while shouting for Cynthia, Zoe, anybody to call 911. At least the weak gasp for air that he heard as he got rid of the belt was some relief, even as Connor’s full weight came crashing down on him and next thing his son was on the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head.

He’d never felt so scared before.

The hospital told them Connor would live, but it would take time for the damage to his throat to repair and he would probably have some form of scar permanently. Plus he was comatose. He would wake up, they just weren’t entirely sure when. And Connor just looked so small in the bed, swamped by the hospital gown and the stark white sheets that made him look even paler than he already was. For a brief moment, Larry could see the small boy who’d been so reluctant to go to bed so that he could play with his remote control plane. Then he blinked and it was gone.

That wasn’t Connor anymore.

They’d found a note in his bag. Apparently...apparently Connor had written a note to a friend. A suicide note. He hadn’t known that Connor had a friend. Maybe...maybe if they talked to this Evan Hansen, they could find out other things they hadn’t known.

Maybe...just maybe...he could learn something about his son for a change.


	3. Cynthia

Cynthia had been thrilled when Connor had been born. They’d been married six years and trying to conceive for almost as long, and had honestly been beginning to give up hope. But then Connor had come along, and while he had been born a few weeks early (not dangerously so, he was just a little on the smaller side), as far as she was concerned, he was perfect. She didn’t want to let him go, spent most of her days either rocking him and cooing softly or keeping a close eye on him as she pottered around the house.

Larry would occasionally mumble that she was coddling their son, but she never listened, too wrapped up in the world of her wonderful little boy with his big blue eyes and the tiny tufts of darkish hair littered sparsely over his head. He was a quiet child, not crying much after the first few weeks unless he was really unhappy, and seemed to enjoy just sitting and watching her, large eyes following every movement. And then when Zoe came along, it felt like Cynthia’s world was complete. They had their perfect little family.

It wouldn’t last as long as she’d hoped.

She’d known about Larry’s excited plan for Connor to take parts in sports and to be just like him for a long time. In truth, from Connor’s early years, she wasn’t sure that was going to work. Connor was a quiet, sensitive child who preferred listening to stories and using his finger paints as opposed to kicking a ball around, not to mention he was a little shy too. Her worries had been confirmed when a three and a half year old Connor had come back from his first softball practice with grazed knees and a wobbly bottom lip, running straight to her and mumbling how he didn’t like softball, that the other boys had laughed at him because he was bad and he didn’t want to go back.

Larry of course had something to say about that, and no matter how much she had tried to convince him otherwise, he was determined to stick to his guns that Connor was going to attend these things. So she’d did all she could, patched up Connor’s knees and given him a cuddle, reassuring him that he would get better at it and he just had to give it another chance and more time. Connor had frowned, clearly wanting to refuse in that classic toddler way before she sent him a stern yet gentle look and he’d mumbled an okay before asking if he could play more with his paints.

As time went by, Larry had gotten more and more frustrated with Connor’s reluctance for sports, and Connor only got more averse to them. He’d taken to hiding from his father and Cynthia didn’t have the heart to scold him for it. Larry was fixated on their son doing sports, even though Connor clearly didn’t want that, even though Connor spent most practices trying to avoid being anywhere near the ball or crying. And yet every week Larry would come storming back in with a sniffling Connor on his heels, complaining how ‘the boy’ wouldn’t take part or wouldn’t try or threw a tantrum. Looking at Connor’s face, she wasn’t so sure tantrum was the word she would use.

And so she argued with Larry about it. He’s a sensitive child, she’d told Larry, and you need to be gentle with him. Larry had scoffed, said he needed to toughen up and stop being a momma’s boy or he’d only get picked on in school and that was when she’d gotten really angry with him. And what was wrong with being a momma’s boy? There was nothing wrong with him, he just wasn’t sporty.

It was the first proper argument they’d had since the kids were born and it had ended with Larry storming off again, going to do some more work or something along those lines. And when she had turned around she had seen Connor and Zoe in the doorway of the living room, toys forgotten behind them. Connor had his hands over Zoe’s ears, blocking out the sound, which he slowly dropped, and she could see he was trying not to cry.

It broke her heart.

Time for bed, she’d declared, blinking away her own tears before ushering the two of them upstairs. She’d put Zoe to bed first, who was more curious as to what had been going on, but when she’d went into Connor’s room, her six year old son was already in his pyjamas, sitting on his bed and looking more...more lost than she’d ever seen him. He’d looked up when she came in and sniffled again before mumbling an apology and her heart broke all over again. The fact that Connor thought he had to apologise for his parents arguing...she’d scooped him up for a cuddle, rubbing his back and telling him that he had nothing to be sorry for. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d had a little cry then, although he’d been trying not to, another thing that Larry had chosen to do that she wasn’t sure she agreed with. He insisted that Connor was a big boy, and big boys didn’t cry.

Well he was still her little boy and he could cry if he wanted to.

Larry had finally given up shortly after that, ferrying Zoe to all her clubs and classes instead and while Cynthia could tell that Connor was more than relieved to escape from it, she couldn’t help but notice that he still seemed sad, frowned when Zoe pranced off with a large smile with their dad chuckling and ruffling her hair.

She’d also noticed that, once, when she’d brought Connor with her to collect Zoe from her dance class, he’d watched with rapt attention as they finished the class and she could see his feet shifting where they dangled, trying to follow on. She would have followed it up, maybe sent him to the classes if he’d wanted to, but she knew it would only cause a further argument with Larry so conceded defeat. He went to music lessons anyway, and he seemed to enjoy that at least.

And so maybe she’d taken it upon herself from then to spoil Connor a little more from then, and so maybe she took his side more whenever he and Zoe disagreed, because while Connor had his own problems, Zoe was far from innocent and yet her husband was far more likely to take her side if something had happened.

Then there’d been the toy plane. Connor had loved that plane, had wanted to play with it every moment, and he’d been so happy, his eyes bright with delight. And of course he’d wanted to bring it to the orchard so that he could fly it around the field. She couldn’t say no to that smile. And she’d felt bad for him when Zoe had clamoured for a go with her father, but Larry was also right. Connor did need to learn to share with his sister and so she’d patted Connor’s shoulder and ushered him to come sit down and eat.

And then Larry had crashed the plane into the creek. 

It was like everything was in slow motion, the horror and anger merging onto Connor’s little face and next thing he was pelting towards the creek faster than she could stop him and then he was in the creek and then Larry was dragging him out and she’d never seen him act like this. He was practically manic, kicking and screaming and it had taken almost an hour to calm him down. Even then he’d been jittery and when Zoe had made a flippant comment about him being upset about a stupid plane, he’d suddenly been across the picnic blanket and he’d hit her.

Cynthia was horrified.

It had been a downward spiral from then really. Connor had taken to hiding himself away in his room, only surfacing for meals and for school, rarely speaking to them and that broke her heart because she knew, she knew there was something wrong with their boy, but he wouldn’t speak with them about it. Larry meanwhile said there was nothing wrong, that he was merely acting out and being a brat.

She wasn’t convinced.

When Connor was suspended from school for throwing a printer at a teacher, she’d been even more horrified but even more convinced that there was something wrong. Connor had never usually been a violent child, she’d reasoned, he wouldn’t have just done something like that for no reason. But when she’d asked him she’d gotten nothing but a shrug before he’d buried himself under the blankets.

And though she never told anyone, she’d heard him sobbing quietly in his room in the middle of the night, and she’d sobbed with him, listening outside the door.

It hurt, to watch her son drift away from her bit by bit, although he always remained closer to her than to his father. Bit by bit he got further and further away from her, hiding himself away in his room, arguing with his father and often with Zoe as well, although that happened later at least. She still remembered so clearly when she’d organised a big party for his ninth birthday, sent him into school with a ton of invitations and when the weekend had come...

Nobody had shown up.

The look on his face had been a mixture of unsurprised yet still upset and he’d scowled before stomping off to his room again, while Zoe had been clamouring if she could eat his cake.

Maybe she’d been too soft on him at times. She hated seeing him upset, hated the arguments and she had scolded him when she’d first discovered the drugs, but that was about as angry as she had ever gotten with him. Anger didn’t work with Connor; it only seemed to set him off further, something Larry didn’t understand.

She’d been the one to find him after his first suicide attempt.

It was a time that was engrained in her memory, and truth be told, she still had nightmares about it. She’d heard the thump from the upstairs bathroom and been confused, wandering up to see what was going on. And when she’d opened the door, Connor had been on the floor, an empty of bottle of painkillers beside him that she knew had previously been full, his body seizing violently, vomiting and she’d screamed before running for the phone.

911\. She needed 911.

It had sent her into a horrible state, the image of her poor baby like that torturing her every time she closed her eyes. After his first visit when Connor had woken up, Larry hadn’t come back to the hospital. Not after that screaming match, with Larry accusing their son of only wanting attention. She didn’t know how he could be so insensitive, especially when Connor was lying in a hospital bed, looking so small and fragile and she just wanted to scoop him up and protect him from the rest of the world.

It hadn’t been the last time. Zoe had found him the next time and once again Cynthia was plagued by nightmares, but this time instead of the image of her son seizing on the bathroom floor it was the image of her son lying in the bathtub with blood everywhere. And Connor still would barely talk to them, clammed up every time or spat harsh comments and retreated into himself.

She didn’t know where her baby boy had gone. He was in there somewhere, he had to be, Connor was just lost, he needed help to get back to himself. Help that Larry didn’t believe in and that made her upset. It was fraying her nerves, living like this.

She hadn’t wanted him to go to school high but she’d insisted that he go. Perhaps if she hadn’t, things wouldn’t have all gone wrong again. Maybe if she’d just let him stay home, things would have been alright. She’d heard him come home, although he hadn’t come inside and she hadn’t gone to find him, because she knew she’d find him smoking and she couldn’t deal with that.

When he hadn’t come done for dinner, Larry had gone to get him, but something felt wrong. Something wasn’t right and she knew it. And her worst fears had been confirmed when she’d heard Larry call for them to call 911. Zoe had leapt for the phone, she had leapt for the stairs, taking them two at a time and reaching Connor’s door to see him dangling from one of the support beams as her husband cut him down.

She’d passed out then, had woken up when the ambulance had arrived and insisted she was fine. She needed to go with Connor, needed to be with him to make sure he was okay.  
Although she hadn’t told any of them, Connor had coded on the way to the hospital. He’d been dead for something like fifteen seconds, and she’d begun to panic, until finally the sound of the heart monitor resumed. Her baby was still with them. This time she was determined that they would make this right. She would do anything, so long as her son would be okay.

Perhaps the Evan Hansen he’d written to would be able to shed some light on their son.

Or at least, maybe a friend present would help Connor in his recovery.


	4. Zoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Sorry for the delay in updating, I've been on holidays for the past two weeks and been really busy, but I did get to watch the Tonys which was amazing, and I finally have this chapter done. Apologies if it's a little shoddy, it was written while on the plane!

Zoe hadn't always hated her brother.

No, she could definitely remember a time, back when they were still little, when they'd gotten along. Sure, they'd still fought, but no more than any normal siblings, especially given how close they were in age. There was barely a year between them, something which Connor felt was forgotten sometimes, as he was constantly reminded about not annoying or harassing his 'little sister', even in the years before he'd taken a growth spurt and she'd be taller than him by nearly an entire head. It had been the most excruciating time, given how much she'd taken advantage of it.

Then, it seemed, everything had gone wrong.

When they were little, Connor had been a pretty quiet kid. Protective of her in the playground if anybody tried to poke fun and that was probably the only times then that she ever saw him get angry at that age. A lot of the time he'd rather begrudgingly agreed to play princesses and dragons with her, even though she'd always insisted that he be the princess so that she could be the dragon. He always agreed though. And for a while, Connor had received a lot of their dad's attention as he ferried him to practice after practice, meet after meet. Softball, football, baseball, everything but for some reason Connor had always come back upset. She hadn't known why, she'd just really wanted to do it too and had been a tad jealous of the attention.

And then she had done it too, but Connor had stopped, and though they tried to ignore it, the arguments had started then. And when they took place, Connor had always been sure to cover her ears, making her promise not to listen, not wanting to upset her, even though she couldn't quite properly reach his ears to reciprocate the gesture all that well.

That was the Connor that she missed and she'd been mourning that loss for years.

He'd never really had many friends, she remembered, not that she knew of. When they were little, he'd been too quiet to really fit in with the popular kids and those that knew him from sports practices tended to take any opportunity to taunt him and push him around a bit. Almost all of the birthday party invites he'd ever gotten were out of courtesy and because their school had an all or nothing policy on that sort of thing to avoid kids feeling left out.

That hadn't worked out for him.

The first time he'd gotten properly mad at her had been about the remote control plane. She'd never seen him react in such a way over something and, as children are wanton to do, she'd kept pushing at him to see how far she could push him.

And he'd snapped and hit her.

Not that there had been any real damage beyond some bruising, but they'd never gone back to the orchard after that, a sense of wariness around her brother instilled and no more family picnics. Come to think of it, they had rarely done anything as a family after that. Mealtimes were about it, and even those could be hit or miss, with arguments flaring up more often than not. 

Maybe she shouldn't have insisted on flying the plane.

And so they'd grown apart.

They still fought, but now it was more vicious than before on the occasions when they were in close proximity. And she had to admit, in verbal arguments, she often gave as good as she got, sometimes saying things she didn't truly mean, and it had only gotten worse when they'd hit their teenage years and more hormones had been added to the mix. By that stage, despite outward appearances, they were a pretty broken family. Mom was at her wits end, dad was working longer and longer hours to avoid being at home amongst confrontation, and her brother rarely left his room if he could help it.

Connor just seemed to get more and more angry. Hardly a day went by when he didn't have a blazing row with their dad over something or other. They never agreed on anything, although she was convinced that half the time it was out of spite on Connor's part, determined to cause confrontation. And it pissed her off that Connor kept starting fights with them, lashing out and so she lashed back. Most of the time it got her an angry comment, but one night he'd been particularly bad, and he'd gotten a wild look in his eyes that she'd never seen before. She'd ran, locking herself in her room and hiding in the wardrobe as he'd hammered at her door, screaming that he would kill her.

It was the first time he'd properly scared her.

In honesty, he'd pushed a note underneath her door later, a shakily scrawled apology and while she could see it was genuine, she'd still torn it up and dropped it in the trash, pissed at him. The next day, Connor had been taunted and kicked around by the football team at lunch and that night he'd downed an entire bottle of pills in an attempt to take his own life.

It had torn their mother apart.

After their first visit, she'd refused to go to the hospital. There'd already be an argument, and all it would get her were harsh comments. Not to mention that the image of her brother looking so...small and frail and vulnerable just didn't match her mental image of him and she couldn't deal with that right now.

She'd found him the second tie, blood staining pale skin and white tiles alike. It haunted her still sometimes, when she closed her eyes, no matter how much she claimed she hated him. He was still her brother, and finding him like that...she'd been so unsure how to feel.

Then there had been the pot.

She had mixed feelings about it if she was honest. Connor while high was vaguely more tolerable in that he was less physical and closer to just grumpy on occasions, but once he started to come down from that high (which just seemed to be more quickly as the years went by) he only got worse.

Then he was terrifying.

Her first day of junior year, he had of course been high which of course had caused their mother significant distress. It would have just been easier to leave him behind, especially given he clearly didn't want to go. Plus the bastard had looked her dead in the eye while downing the last of the milk straight from the carton and leaving the empty carton on the side in plain view.

Prick.

Other than him pushing Evan though, she had no clue what he'd done for the rest of the day, not that she cared. She'd hunted him down and forced him to go apologise but at the end of the day he'd already been gone by the final bell, so she hadn't bothered waiting. He could walk for all she cared, maybe if he wasn't such a prick, dad would let him have a car and then he could drive himself instead of her having to ferry him about.

And when their dad had gone to drag him from his room, she hadn't expected to hear him shout for someone to call 911. She'd jumped nonetheless, knowing automatically what had happened, even if she hadn't seen what was going on. She could hear their mother scream, heard some thumps, and then the ambulance came and everything was a bit of a blur. Against her own wishes, she'd stayed in the hospital room with him briefly. Thick bandages were carefully wound around his neck and in the horrible light and robe they'd given him meant that she could see his bare arms, littered with scars, some old, some far too fresh for her liking.

It was unsettling to think of him as anything other than a monster.


	5. Connor Realises Things

The first thing Connor Murphy realised when he woke up was that his throat hurt like hell.

The second was that he was, somewhat surprisingly and disappointingly, alive.

Just like him, of course. So much of a disappointment and a failure that he couldn’t even off himself right. If he tried really hard to remember what had happened, he could remember his bedroom door opening, a shocked look on Larry’s face and that was it. He didn’t know how he’d gotten down from the support beam, but he presumed Larry had something to do with that as well.

The third thing he noticed was that his mother was sobbing and clutching at his arm, seemingly unaware that he was awake. His very bare arm. Which meant that his mother had seen the scars that littered them.

Well, shit.

And apparently the garbled faint shriek that had come out of his mouth instead of the curses he’d been looking for had alerted her to the fact that he awake. He’d never seen someone dry their eyes so quickly only to start crying again. He honestly wasn’t sure what she was saying, her voice was so shaky and clouded with crying, but she was cupping his face and pressing kisses to his forehead and it was too much, too close, too crowded for him. His eyes squeezed shut and he must have made some other noise because suddenly she was backing away and her hands were holding his instead and he could breathe again.

“Oh Connor, honey, you’re awake, oh thank god. Are you sore? I can get them to get you more...”

Her voice trailed off. Yeah, probably not a good idea to give the druggie more access to drugs, mom. Still, the thought was there. And while he opened his mouth to respond, no sound came out beyond a harsh noise that sounded nothing like what he wanted to say, and it only made the pain in his throat flare up. Yeah, he supposed those were the side effects of trying to hang himself.

“Oh honey, don’t try to speak. The doctors said it would take some time for you to heal and your voice to come back properly. We’ll get you a notebook or something so you can write messages, how about that?”

A nod.

He supposed he could handle that. But now he just wanted to sleep.

***************

The second time he woke up, his mom was gone. More surprisingly however was the figure of none other than Larry, fast asleep in the chair beside the bed. It was bizarre, really, being in the same room as him without there being some sort of disagreement or upset. But now, Larry didn’t look angry. Just...exhausted.  
It made him wonder if his dad had ever visited while he was asleep the other times.

He must have spent at least ten minutes just staring, trying to remember exactly when they’d gone past the point of no return with their relationship. Even when he’d been little, it had been strained. Larry had wanted him to go to all the sports meets, even though the thought of them had always terrified him, had made him want to be physically sick. He’d wanted to make him proud, but that hadn’t changed the fact that he was terrible at sports, that the other boys liked to push him around or that every time he had to go, he couldn’t breathe right and everything went fuzzy.

He’d been so relieved when Larry had given up, but also a horrible sense of disappointment that had never really shifted. He was a failure. He couldn’t be the son that Larry wanted, and nothing he ever did seemed to be good enough for him. Nothing ever matched up to his expectations.

His dad had shifted then, as the sound of his mother’s footsteps came down the hall, and Connor immediately shut his eyes, feigning sleep but listening as hard as he could.

“He’s still asleep...I...I need to go to the office and sort a few things out.”

“Larry, please...stay a little longer, wait for him to wake up. Let him see you, for gods sake!”

“And start another fight? Cynthia, he hates me, we both know that. It’ll be easier for everyone if I don’t...not yet anyway. There’ll only be an argument if I stay.”

“Not if you control your temper. He can barely even speak, Larry, he needs to know that his father is there for him, even if the two of you disagree...I’m sure he doesn’t hate you...”

“I need to go.”

He listened to Larry leave, could hear the sound of his mother beginning to cry and slowly opened his eyes. His mom was facing the door and as she turned around, she caught his eye. All of a sudden, he felt like he was six years old again and that he’d just witnessed their first big argument.

He was tearing the family apart. It was all his fault, all the fights, all the harsh words and storming off. Hell, if he’d only just managed to get it right this time, they’d be so much better off. There’d be no need for fights or arguments or anything like that. Things would be better. And yet she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see that he’d just been trying to fix everything he’d fucked up, that they would be better without him.

They’d sobbed together that night.

**********************

He’d been in a coma for a little over a week, he found out gradually. Larry had found him and cut him down while Zoe had called for the ambulance. His voice and throat would heal slowly, but he’d always have a scar. Another one to add to his collection and remind him of his failure. Great. Larry only ever visited when Connor was meant to be asleep and always left before morning, leaving no hint that he’d ever been there.

Zoe didn’t visit.

If Larry had been even thirty seconds later, he wouldn’t have made it. They’d put him on suicide watch since then, which was stupid. He didn’t feel like killing himself anymore. He still felt like utter shit, but that bridge wasn’t there anymore. 

The doctors wanted to send him to a psychiatrist.

That had been the source of another argument between his parents. Larry didn’t want it, mom insisted. The thought of it...Connor wasn’t sure how to feel. Part of him wanted it, wanted something to confirm the lingering suspicion that there was something wrong in his brain that made him feel like this. Another part of him was terrified that there wasn’t, that the truth was that he was just an asshole and a druggie.

He also found out that they’d found the letter that Hansen had written, the one that he’d snatched and ran off with. They’d thought it was a suicide note, that Evan was his friend and apparently the kid had agreed. It was weird as fuck, but Connor had never had the energy to argue against it. Besides, the thought seemed to reassure his mother somewhat so he let her have it. He’d never written a suicide note, not any of the times.

He’d never thought that anyone would care anyway.

And then one day he woke up and Evan Hansen was the one sitting beside his bed.


	6. Evan

Even though he’d been going to the same school as him for nearly twelve years now, Evan Hansen had to admit to himself that he knew surprisingly little about Connor Murphy beyond the obvious things. Zoe was a different story, but her brother was pretty much a mystery, which meant that this whole mess that he’d gotten himself into was even more complicated.

It was a little difficult to pretend he was someone’s best friend when he didn’t actually know them.

He knew that Connor was in his year, that he skipped half of his classes on the days when he actually did show up and that pretty much everyone in school seemed to think that he was a psychopath, a view that only seemed more and more exaggerated by Jared with the frequent flippant comments he made. Comments that made Evan feel uncomfortable but what was he supposed to do? Jared was the only friend- family friend- that he had.

He knew that Connor had grown his hair out over the summer, that he painted his nails- it wasn’t difficult to notice the chipped black paint- and well, everyone knew the story of how he’d apparently thrown a printer at a teacher in the second grade. Evan hadn’t been in that class so he’d missed it, but the school had been rife with the story for weeks after and when Connor had returned to school, everyone had seemed to avoid him.

But generally, Evan had tended to avoid Connor. Connor was unpredictable, a loose cannon that could go off at any minute and Evan had never been comfortable with that so he’d done his best to just keep his head down and stay out of the way and because of that he’d never had any problem with him until the first day of senior year.

He was still kicking himself for that. Because of course he’d had to go and laugh, of course he’d then had to go and mention Zoe in his letter and Connor had taken it and now his parents thought that it was a suicide note, that he and Connor were best friends and Connor was lying in a hospital bed. He’d visited once when Connor had still been unconscious, lingered awkwardly before excusing himself, but then Cynthia and Larry (they’d told him to call them that but it was still a little weird) had told him that Connor was awake and that he should come back, that maybe a friend was what Connor needed right now.

He had no idea how he was going to get out of this one.

So he’d agreed and now he was sitting beside Connor Murphy while he slept, which was horribly creepy and if the guy hadn’t liked him before he was really going to hate him now and maybe he should just leave. It would be better if he left. But that wouldn’t get rid of the problem. Should he tell the truth, confess that he’d never actually held a conversation for longer than a few minutes with Connor and that their longest interaction had been right before Connor had ran off, convinced that Evan was trying to taunt him.

Unfortunately before he’d gotten out of his mental dilemma of if he should just run away, he’d looked down and Connor had been staring directly at him. He’d frozen, his mouth gaping but making no noise until Connor had shifted, biting back a wince and motioning towards the bedside table. He’d been confused until he’d turned to look and noticed the pad of paper and pencil sitting there. Of course. Stupid Evan. Connor’s voice was still healing, he couldn’t speak so they’d given him something to write with instead. Stammering an apology he passed the utensils over before his eyes darted back to the ground.

A cough.

He looked up.

Connor was looking at him quizzically with a raised eyebrow, the pad held towards him so he could read it.

_You sure do apologise a lot, don’t you?_

It didn’t seem angry or aggressive, just...curious.

“Uh yeah...sorry, I know it must be really annoying...uh...”

_Chill. So I hear we’re best friends now._

“I’m sorry about that...I uh...I panicked and I’m sorry, I totally understand if you’re mad at me, I would be too, and I can just go and we can just pretend we had a fight or something or I can tell them that I lied, I shouldn’t have done that...”

He was rambling but he couldn’t stop the words until he felt a light tap.

_Chill. I wouldn’t say I’m mad. It’s a little weird, but it’s also the happiest I’ve seen my mom in months. She literally cried over the thought that I had a friend. Besides, my name is kinda all over your cast..._

_Sorry about that._

Evan blinked, a little unsure of how to respond, “So...uh...you want to pretend that we’re best friends?”

_Well I guess we can try to be friends. We’ll have to do the whole pretending we’ve been buddies since forever around my family though. So buddy, you said you broke your arm falling out of a tree...you like trees then?_

Wait...Connor had actually remembered that? Hastily, Evan nodded, beginning to babble about being a ranger, about trees and to his surprise, Connor made no move to stop him, didn’t tap him or cough or anything. He just...listened. And while Connor Murphy probably didn’t care all that much about trees, he seemed to be showing at least a little interest which was more than expected. Maybe...maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“But uh...yeah...what...what sort of things do you like?”

Well done Evan for the fucking lamest question ever. He could feel his cheeks heat up as Connor began to write again, watching as the other boy’s tongue stuck out in his concentration, occasionally chewing on the end of the pencil idly before he finally flipped the pad again.

_Music. Art. English. I got kicked out of band in seventh grade because I punched a tuba player for kicking over my music stand. Larry wasn’t happy about that one. Not that he’s ever happy about anything to do with me._

Now that Evan thought about it, English was the only class he’d ever been in with Connor that he’d seen Connor regularly attend, and if he thought hard, he had vague memories of seeing the other teenager hidden off with a book in hand. He wondered if Connor was good at art, like Zoe was good at jazz band, if he doodled things when he was bored the way Zoe did.

They must have talked like that for at least an hour, swapping stories and talking about their lives. Was this what real friends did? It felt...nice. For once someone was actually listening to him that wasn’t his mom and he was struggling to find the angry kid that everyone talked about in school like he was a ticking time bomb. Connor didn’t seem to be judging him either, seemed to understand at least partially when he mentioned certain things to do with his pills or the like. To have someone understand...

He learnt that Connor’s favourite colour was actually purple, that he’d smoked pot since the age of fourteen, that he painted his nails to piss off his dad and because he’d grown to like it and that he preferred his hair long. As a kid he’d wanted to learn to dance so had watched his sister’s lessons when he could and found books in the school library. He’d taught himself as best he could, all while hiding it from his parents because he knew it would only cause an argument that he didn’t want to have. He’d wanted to be an astronaut at one point. His favourite food was pancakes drowned in maple syrup and sugar.

It also seemed that Connor wasn’t completely comfortable around his parents because the moment his mother walked in, he seemed to clam up a bit. Cynthia seemed like a nice mom, but she also seemed to be pretty smothering, hovering around Connor, checking on him and fixing his hair, even though Evan could see that it was getting a bit much for Connor. Promising to come back soon (and he’d locked eye contact with Connor at that point, the promise more for him than for Cynthia) he’d excused himself and ducked out so that he could get home before his mo .

Maybe...Maybe this whole friendship thing wouldn’t be too bad.


	7. A Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you like this chapter! I'm hoping to get a few more out this week, but I have rehearsals as I've just been cast as Anita in West Side Story and I'm also going to Comic Con this weekend, so I'll do my best. Also thank you all for your kudos and kind comments, it really makes my day to see them!

Today was not a good day.

It should have been an alright day because he’d woken up with some semblance of a voice, which meant he could faintly croak the occasional sentence instead of having to either say nothing or transcribe it all which took far more effort than it was generally worth. Granted, he’d gotten pretty good at expressing himself through facial features, but to be able to speak was so much better.

His mom had been there when he’d woken; gently combing his hair and even that hadn’t been half bad. He’d almost been able to pretend that life was good, that he wasn’t a piece of shit and that he didn’t know that everything would probably turn on its head within an hour. And yet he couldn’t pretend quite completely, because he could still feel the pinch of the IV at the back of his hand, the scratchiness of bandages and the high pitched beeping of the heart monitor. Little things, but they kept dragging him back to reality nonetheless.

He’d lain like that for about fifteen minutes before he’d finally opened his eyes and his mom had smiled at him, a sort of hopeful smile that made his stomach twist. Even now, she had hope in him; even now she cared, even though he was such a fuck up. He didn’t deserve this, she didn’t deserve the shit he put her through every day.

“Would you like a drink of water, honey?”

He’d nodded, chewing his lower lip. The twisting in his gut continued and he knew, he just knew that something was going to go wrong. He just felt on edge, nervous and he didn’t know why. He’d taken the glass in a shaky hand, and almost without realising, he’d muttered a thanks, only to look up at her gasp of surprise.

“Oh see Connor, your voice is coming back already! And the doctors said that they’d maybe try and get you properly up and about for a bit today. A walk around, or something, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I guess...”

It would be better than lying here. Primarily though he wanted to take a proper shower, turned up hot as he could bear. He felt disgusting and he was fairly sure his hair was horribly greasy and ratty and gross. Mostly though, he just wanted to get out of hospital. He wasn’t an invalid; he’d tried to kill himself. But they were still keeping him on watch, so that was apparently out of the question. Evan had visited the day before, and they’d talked a little more which had been kinda nice, even if he’d been a bit snappy with him. Thankfully Evan had taken it in his stride.

He’d not wanted breakfast, but he’d begrudgingly taken a slice of toast in order to satisfy his mom, and then the surprises had started. Because who should walk in with the doctors but fucking Larry. And Larry wasn’t in a good mood either which meant a shit storm was about to follow.

The doctors wanted to see how he was feeling, wanted to talk to him about going to see one of the hospital psychiatrists, perhaps starting therapy sessions. He could practically see Larry’s face getting darker as the words went on, until he finally asked for some alone time.

“I think this would be good for him, Larry. I think it’ll help.”

“With what? His attention stunts? We’ve been through this before Cynthia, and it didn’t do a damn thing then, did it?”

It went on and on for at least two minutes, with their voices getting louder and louder and Connor could feel the all too familiar buzz of the white noise clouding his mind, the anger beginning to set in. Curling his hands into fists, he did his best to dig his nails into the palms of his hands, but they’d been clipped down so he couldn’t hurt himself with them, so there was no satisfaction from the gesture. Not until he’d finally snapped, the fuse blowing in his brain and he’d grabbed the now empty plastic glass of water and tossed it across the room while letting out a scream of frustration, the cup bouncing off the wall and rolling towards Larry’s feet.

“Here’s an idea; how about you both stop fucking talking about me as if I’m not fucking here and ask me what I think?”

A stunned silence fell across the room, filled only by the sounds of Connor’s heavy breathing and the glass still rolling as his parents turned to stare at him. Even Larry seemed shocked into silence, although the anger was clearly still raging in him as well- he just seemed to be struggling for the correct words to say. And Connor’s outburst had exhausted him. He felt faint, his vision blurring slightly and his chest going tight. No....no, this was not a good time. Not in front of them, not now. It was getting harder to breathe and part of him could hear the heart monitor behind him going crazy, amongst the sound of nurses coming running.

He needed to calm down. Five things he could feel, four...four...

He blacked out.

When he woke up, his parents were gone and instead his vitals were being checked by a blonde nurse that he didn’t think he’d seen before, and yet something about her looked familiar. He couldn’t place it though, but he was sure that he hadn’t met her before. He was too exhausted to try and figure it out though. Even still, when she saw he was awake, she smiled gently at him.

“How are you feeling Connor?”

His bad mood from earlier still lingering he scowled at her, eyebrows knitting together and offering no response. She didn’t seem deterred though and seemed to figure some sort of answer from that. Good for her, he didn’t care. He felt pissed, wanted to throw something, punch a wall, smoke some pot, anything to get rid of this shitty shitty feeling.

“I’m Heidi Hansen. I hear you know my son Evan?”

Well that explained the feeling of familiarity. Still partially scowling, he turned to look at her, his expression lightening a little bit. He could see the resemblance now that he looked, her hair was only a few shades lighter, and they had the same eyes too.

“And yes, he told me about the whole mix up with his letter. But he said that the two of you have been getting on better recently.”

Connor blinked, before shrugging and averting his gaze, picking at the sheets around him, “He’s a good kid...I was kind of a jerk to him...but he’s been visiting me...and it’s uh...it’s been cool...uh...where’s my mom?”

“He mentioned that but he also speaks very highly of you,” Heidi said softly, the words making Connor’s brow furrow because he was pretty sure that no one had ever spoken highly of him, and he certainly hadn’t given Evan reason to, “The doctors asked your parents if they would leave for a few hours to give you some space so she went home for a little bit. You gave them quite a scare.”

“They were arguing over whether I should see a psychiatrist.”

He wasn’t sure why he was telling her this. Sure, the nurses all had a certain amount of confidentiality but Connor didn’t open up to people in general. But she just seemed like Evan, like she would listen and not judge and maybe even understand.

“Oh?”

“They just...they were shouting and it was as if I wasn’t even there...just arguing without asking me what I wanted and I...I freaked out...”

A sympathetic smile came across Heidi’s face, but not in a pitying way and that at least felt a little reassuring. He didn’t want pity. Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted, but pity just always ended up sending him spiralling into rages and making him lose control.

“If you’d like, I can go get one of the doctors and you can talk with them yourself. Your decision, all on your own terms.”

Chewing his lower lip, he nodded slowly. He couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t freak out but at least maybe without the background of arguing parents it might be easier. Watching her finish up her checks and turn to leave, he finally managed to find his voice again.

“Thank you...and uh...Mrs Hansen? Could you...could you tell Evan that he can come visit again whenever he wants?”

Heidi turned in the doorway and smiled, inclining her head gently, “Of course I will. I’ll send the doctors in for you in a little while, try to get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

Alright, so maybe it had been a shit day but he supposed that some good things had come out of it.


	8. Zoe Realises Things

Life was tense in the Murphy household.

Then again, it always was. It was just the atmosphere that the house seemed to inspire, even in the best moments. Tension practically leaked out of the walls, that quiet feeling that something was going to happen, whether it was good or bad.  Now, with Connor still in hospital, the tension was climbing once again, particularly between Zoe’s parents.

She hadn’t been to visit him yet, not since the first time. She didn’t need that, not the sight of her brother looking so vulnerable, nor the verbal battle that was likely to end up happening if he was awake. Her mom was at the hospital all the time- not that she had anything else to do- and while he wouldn’t admit it, her dad was also there quite a lot, although usually at night, as if he wanted to avoid Connor finding out that he cared. Yeah, she loved her dad but he had a weird way of going about things sometimes.

One of the things that had come about due to Connor’s hospitalisation was that, on the few occasions when both her parents were at home, the number of arguments they had really ramped up, usually revolving around Connor. Most of the time she hid herself in her room and blasted music, or made some excuse about going round to a friend’s house, just to get away from it for a bit. Apparently the doctors at the hospital had suggested that Connor see a psychiatrist, something dad wasn’t overly happy about. He never really had been although she wasn’t entirely sure why. Back after the first time Connor had tried to kill himself, they’d sent him to a psychiatrist who had put him on some pills. For a while he had seemed...a little better, but then things had begun to deteriorate and Larry had dismissed it as hopeless, cancelling both the psychiatrist and the prescription. Maybe that was what he was worried about this time.

And so once again, she’d come home to an argument. Apparently the doctors had tried to talk about it again, which had set off an argument between their parents. Something which had pissed Connor off enough (not difficult) to cause him to throw a cup at the wall and scream at them. He had then, according to her mom, started ‘freaking out’ and unresponsive, tugging his own hair and flinching away and lashing out whenever anyone tried to touch him until he’d passed out a minute or two later.

Hell, she hated her brother most of the time, but even she couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

And so for some reason, she’d grabbed a lunchbox of some brownies that they’d lifted at the store a few days previous and got in her car and drove to the hospital. Technically visiting hours were over, but apparently being Connor’s sister got her a bit of a free pass and so she found herself standing outside his room, debating on whether or not she should actually go in. This was a bad idea. She should never have come. Connor wouldn’t want to speak to her, hell, he was probably asleep, and she should just go home. And yet, despite this line of thought, she found herself walking into the room.

Connor wasn’t asleep, but he did seem to be lost in his own little world, eyes locked on the curtains and his left hand was tapping out a faint rhythm against the bed sheets. His hair had been scraped back, and she had to wrinkle her nose a little at how it looked, but they’d at least allowed him to change from a hospital gown to a baggy t-shirt and sleep pants. Nonetheless, she could still see his arms, and the sight of them littered with scars made her swallow uncertainly. This was why she had put off visiting. Seeing him like this...it was hard to still see him as such a monster when she saw him like this, vulnerable and frail and...well, _hurting._ It reminded her in a way of how he’d been when they were little and something had upset him.

Hovering in the doorway, she cleared her throat and he immediately reacted. His shoulders tensed as he turned his head, and she could practically see all the walls going up again as a look of confusion crossed his face. He hadn’t expected her to visit. Why would he? She never had before, and they hadn’t exactly had a decent relationship for years now.

“Mom and dad were arguing again...so uh...I thought I’d bring you something...figured anything would be better than hospital food,” she mumbled, showing the box of brownies as she moved towards the seat beside the bed. If anything, Connor’s look of confusion seemed to grow at that, but he tentatively took the box, opening it and giving it a suspicious look.

“They’re store bought, not mom’s attempt.”

He seemed satisfied by that at least and took a brownie, taking a small bite from it. Once he’d managed to confirm that it wasn’t her attempt to poison him, he finished it off before giving her a half nod.

“Uh...thanks.”

God, she was pretty sure she’d never been in such an awkward situation before. A nervous silence hung in the air and she realised that she didn’t actually have much to talk with her brother about. Come to think of it, she didn’t really know anything about him anymore. He just seemed so far away, out of reach and only displaying his anger and violence. This was contrary to her usual expectations and she had no idea how to handle it.

“So...mom said that the doctors want you to see a psychiatrist...”

Wow Zoe, what a great conversation starter. Bring up the topic that made your brother pretty much have a breakdown. As it was, Connor just seemed to shrug, the topic clearly still raw, as he picked at his sheets, black nail polish chipped and almost gone from his fingernails where he’d obviously been picking it off for something to do.

“Larry won’t agree with it."

“Do you want it though?”

Another silence. It dawned on her then that neither their mom or their dad had ever really asked Connor whether he wanted to go to therapy or not. It had always been an argument reserved for their parents, without any consultation with the person who it would affect. For all the times their dad had said that Connor’s behaviour was a cry for attention, and their mom had said it was a cry for help, beyond the first time he’d seen a therapist and the shitty retreat that mom had thought was a good idea last year, they’d never offered to get him any other sort of help.

Connor still had no answer for her, but something about the way he seemed to curl in on himself answered it for him. He wanted help but he was scared and she supposed she could get that. The uncertainty, if the psychiatrist was actually able to diagnose him with something. Or if they didn’t.

She kinda felt sorry for him.

So she changed the topic. Told him about how they’d started a new piece in jazz band and how her bio teacher was really pissing her off because he just droned on and on about completely irrelevant things. Connor didn’t make any inputs but she could tell he was actually listening from the way he would occasionally glance up from beneath his eyelashes. She avoided any mention of school in general, or their parents or anything that she figured would get a bad reaction, although it had always been hard to tell what would set him off. In the end, when she’d glanced over, she’d realised that he had fallen asleep. A few strands of hair had come loose and were falling in his eyes, and with more bravado than she’d had in years towards him, she’d reached out and carefully tucked them behind his ear. He looked so much calmer like this, the tension and anger gone from his face and replaced, for once, with peace, relaxed.

It made her realise that she was pretty sure she hadn’t seen him genuinely smile in years.

After about twenty minutes of watching him sleep, their dad had arrived, frankly looking exhausted and she was surprised that he’d turned up tonight at all after the argument. He’d looked surprised to see her there too, had walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. She’d looked up at him, pursing her lips and only speaking once before leaving.

“Let him see a psychiatrist. Please.”


	9. Larry Realises Things

The house was quiet.

Larry wasn’t sure how long it had been since the house was this quiet. Zoe was at school and Cynthia...Cynthia was at the hospital was Connor still. He on the other hand had elected that it was for the best if he didn’t go back. Not after what had happened the day before. The argument, Connor screaming at them and then...Larry wasn’t sure how to describe what had happened after that but it had terrified him. Hell, it had terrified them all. He...he didn’t want to see that again.

They’d gone home afterwards, after a recommendation to give Connor some time and space, and well, that had led to another blazing row when they’d gotten home. He knew his arguments weren’t making much sense anymore, knew in his heart that he was being ridiculous, but thinking of Connor as doing all this for attention, to hurt them was easier both to process and emotionally than to come to terms with the fact that there might be something wrong with their boy. It was easier to imagine that Connor was trying to hurt them rather than that he was the one who was desperately hurting. His resolve had been even more shaken when he’d arrived at the hospital that night to find Zoe sitting beside a sleeping Connor. She’d taken one look at him and stood, kissing his cheek before saying only a few words.

“Let him see a psychiatrist. Please.”

The words had shaken him to his very core. Zoe and Connor’s relationship had been...well pretty much non-existent for the last few years, so the fact that she was asking that...

He was so tired.

He’d slumped down into the armchair, resting his head in his hands and when he’d decided to finally look up at Connor, the sight before him was all he needed for the final crack to rupture and completely shatter him, the sight of his boy lying there, looking so small and frail, pale skin littered with scars. His arms were covered with them, some white and faded and almost invisible, the deep, still pink ones from two years ago, and then newer, redder ones, some still scabbed over. Hell, the only scar he could see on Connor that wasn’t...like that was the one at his temple where he’d fallen off his bicycle as a six year old and collided with the pavement.

And he’d sobbed.

He’d spent most of the night like that and this morning he’d waited for Cynthia to arrive before getting ready to leave. She’d looked at him sheepishly before embracing him and he’d taken the moment to just hold her. How long had it been since they’d just held each other and meant it? Before he’d left, he told her that he would agree to Connor seeing the psychiatrist and he’d seen hope enter her eyes before he’d ducked his head and come home. He hadn’t gone to work, called in to say that he couldn’t make it. They’d been understanding. A suicidal kid tended to do that. He needed the time to himself.

Where had it all gone wrong?

And that was how he’d found himself sitting in their living room with one of their old photo albums on his lap. It had been Cynthia’s idea to make them, to document their family life, and this one was bursting at the seams because instead of starting a new one she’d insisted on adding more pages.

The first page was their wedding photo. Back in the days when they’d rarely argued, when they’d had such dreams of the wonderful life they were going to lead. They’d been high school sweethearts and gotten married the moment he’d been out of college, ready to lead their fairytale life. He had a good job, with guaranteed promotions as he progressed, a good pay, insurance and a car included. They’d bought their own house, complete with white picket fence and enough room for a family.

The real American dream. Except things hadn’t worked out that way.

They’d had trouble conceiving at first. It had been a concern, and he’d seen her getting more and more disheartened. But then almost six years since they’d been married, they’d had Connor. The next page was a picture of him, all swaddled up in blankets, fresh and new and small, fast asleep in his mother’s arms. The next few pages were similar, various baby photos of Connor. One in particular made him crack a smile, a photo from Connor’s first Christmas. For some reason, they’d decided to dress him in a horribly garish elf outfit. Connor’s wide eyes and open mouth in the photo said it all really.

He’d been so small; he could remember holding him in the crook of his arm as the baby boy gummed at his finger. After a few photos, Zoe was in there too. There wasn’t all that much difference in age between the two of them after all. Enough to put them in different school years but little more. More and more photos- Connor’s first haircut, his first birthday party, Connor with chocolate smeared across his face and hands, Connor at his first little league game-

And the more he looked at that photo, the more it appeared to him that the smile on Connor’s face was nervous, a little wobbly, not the carefree grin from other photos.

Had that been the beginning of the end?

Connor’s first day of kindergarten. He looked so cute, so tiny and with his backpack and lunchbox practically dwarfing him. A huge grin on his face, his eyes practically closed with his excitement, even if a few minutes after it had been taken he’d adopted a serious look and asked his mother what he should do if people didn’t want to play with him.

Halloween. For at least four years straight, Connor had insisted on going as Spiderman. He’d had the full costume, ran about for days dressed up and had been rather disappointed when a three year old Zoe had chosen to go as Peter Pan rather than the Green Goblin. The next year she’d been Batman though, so he’d been a little happier with that, charging around the neighbourhood, trick or treating with giggles and smiles. He’d been so happy then, so full of energy.

He could begin to properly see the change through the photos now. A photo of Connor’s first day of first grade and the grin that had been there in the previous photos was gone. He was still smiling but it was a smaller smile, fainter and there was a hint of something in his eyes that looked...unsure? The same smile cropped up more and more, the happy grin slowly disappearing as the school years progress. He’d never noticed it before, not really. How had he never noticed it?

There were also less photos of Connor as he got older in general as well, mostly him ducking into the background of a family photo or something like that. Other than school photos, there were only three photos of him from the age of fourteen and he took a good thirty minutes just looking at them.

He didn’t know why the first was there. A photo of Connor in the hospital- the first attempt, judging by the lack of bandages on his wrists- where he was fast asleep, curled up and with his face half buried in the pillow. The second was the aftermath of the second, Connor with a hesitant smile, bandages thick around his wrists and reluctantly holding a ‘welcome home’ balloon that Cynthia had bought, as if he’d just been away on holiday.

The third photo he’d never seen before, and he wasn’t entirely sure who had taken it. It was in their back yard, that much was clear and it was Connor, sitting underneath the old oak tree with a book in hand. In the photo it was easy to see how absorbed he was in his reading, hair falling over his face slightly and the most relaxed look he’d seen on his son’s face in years. It was recent too.

Peaceful and calm and entirely unalike the Connor he knew.

Finally he closed the photo album, slowly sliding it back onto the shelf before climbing the stairs and going into Connor’s room. They’d cleaned the rope and all that away, but in his minds eye he could still see Connor, hanging there, and he had to take a moment to just sit down and breathe. Once he’d righted himself, he looked around before picking a book off the bedside table. It was worn and clearly thumbed through often enough, another thing that surprised him.

Maybe he didn’t know his son at all. The thought made him sad and angry. Angry because Connor hadn’t tried with him in years. Sad because a small part at the back of his brain was whispering that he hadn’t really tried either.

Nonetheless, he made up his mind there and then to bring it with him when he returned to the hospital. He’d leave it beside the bed and be gone before Connor woke, as usual.

It was less painful that way.


	10. Another Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's another chapter! I'm getting on a roll with this. I also wanted to ask, how would you guys feel if I did a companion piece to this looking more at specific moments in Connor's childhood? I'd originally planned to do that in this, but it didn't flow as well when I tried to do that, so I'm thinking of doing a separate story/collection of oneshots?

He’d woken up angry.

It was stupid, he thought and he could practically hear the little voice in his head scoffing at him and asking how it was possible to wake up angry, when nothing had happened yet, and by all accounts he should be happy because he was finally getting to see a psychiatrist and yesterday had been pretty good but he just was.

Even the sight of his favourite book on the bedside table, a peace offering perhaps from Larry, made him angry because it meant that Larry had gone into his room. He hated that. It was his room, his own personal and private space and yet his parents felt they could just wander in whenever they felt like it, especially now, and all because he’d tried to off himself. He could feel the rage bubbling up, the intrusive thoughts battering away, even as the door opened and Evan popped his head around the door.

God no, part of him thought, don’t let Evan be here now, not when he was feeling like this and apparently he was wearing his anger on his face as well because Evan paused, more hesitant than usual.

“C-C-Connor?”

He wanted to throw something but there was nothing in reach, wanted to scream but his vocal cords were still healing and it hurt to go much louder than a room voice, wanted to gouge his fingernails into his arms but they’d cut them stubby and short so he couldn’t.

“I’ll get Z-Zoe...or someone...”

Just what he fucking needed, his sister to scream back at him and remind him of how much of a failure he was. How many times had he wanted to hit her? How many times had he actually done it? He could feel his heart rate increasing, his fingers curling into the sheets as his breathing quickened. Biting down hard on his lower lip, he pressed his forehead into his knees for a moment before slamming it down with a scream of frustration.

He didn’t even notice the nurse come into the room until he felt the bed dip slightly and someone gently push his head back from where he’d been smashing it against his knees in an attempt to feel something other than the anger. His vision was swimming slightly but when his eyes focused he recognised her as Evan’s mom.

“Connor? Connor, I need you to look at me. Breathe with me, okay? In for five, hold for six, out for eight, okay?”

Part of him wanted to snap a harsh remark, and yet somehow he found himself obeying as her hands moved to take his, squeezing reassuringly as his breathing began to steady, albeit shakily.

“Tell me five things you can see.”

“...You....the wall...the sheets...my hands...uh....uh...the floor...”

“Good. Four things you can touch.”

“Your hands....the sheets...my hair...my shirt...”

“Three things you can hear.”

“You....my voice...the clock...”

“Two things you can smell...”

“Antiseptic...uh...uh...your perfume...”

“One thing you can taste.”

“...b-blood...”

He’d bitten his lip too hard apparently, the tangy taste thick in his mouth and he swallowed nervously. He did feel a little better though, although the white noise was still creeping at the edge of his mind, hints of rage still bubbling underneath his skin as he took a shaky breath and looked up at her. To his surprise, she offered him a small reassuring smile and gave his hand another squeeze. It dawned on him that she must have just started her shift, and that she’d brought Evan with her so they could spend some time together and he’d gone and fucked it all up. Again.

“Do you want me to send Evan back in? Or do you want a little time to yourself?”

That was the question. He actually enjoyed spending time with Evan, and there seemed to be a level of understanding between the two of them, but he was also still feeling pretty angry and the last thing he wanted to do was end up snapping at Evan. Other people could take it easily enough but Evan...Evan would probably think it was all his own fault when it was just Connor being a dick.

“...I don’t want to upset him...”

“How about I give him a little pre-warning that you aren’t feeling so great?”

Connor nodded, shrugging a little. Maybe it would help to talk with Evan. Maybe it would calm him down a little before his psychiatrist’s appointment later. Or maybe he would end up snapping at Evan and lose the only friend he had. No pressure Connor.

The door creaked as Evan stepped round it, nervously shutting it and shuffling over to the seat. He was fiddling with the hem of his shirt again, something Connor had noticed that he did a lot. Thankfully he spotted the book on the bedside table.

“I...uh...I d-didn’t know you l-liked The Little Prince...We had to read that in...Sixth grade, wasn’t it?”

Connor looked over at him, nodding and swallowing, “I read it before that.....s’one of my favourites.”

He’d never really told anyone about that. Well except the middle school yearbook when he’d made a top ten list of his favourite books which had just given the football team even more reason to kick the crap out of him behind the bleachers at lunch. Middle school had been a real blast. Zoe had borrowed his copy without asking once and he’d gone mental at her until she’d given it back and spat at him that he was a freak getting so pissed off about a book. Mom had told Zoe off for provoking him and Larry had grounded at him for acting that way to his sister.

“Did your mom bring it in for you?”

“I...uh...I think Larry did.”

Saying the name made him grit his teeth, far too many memories of arguments and fights flooding his mind but he swallowed, forcing it all back down because Evan didn’t need to see any more about his daddy issues.

“He...he agreed to let me see a psychiatrist...well either that or mom’s decided she’s going to say yes for him which might be more likely.”

“Connor, that’s great!” Evan seemed to light up a little before he receded somewhat, “I mean, not that you have to see a psychiatrist, but maybe because it might help you a little...I’m not saying you’re crazy or anything but you sort of seemed like you wanted to see one and that it might help...but maybe you don’t, I’m sorry that I’m assuming-“

“Evan. It’s fine. I do want to see one I guess...I have my first appointment later...I’m just...I’m-“

“Scared?”

Connor’s head snapped up. He would never have expected Evan to say something like that or even to interrupt him, but the other teen was scarily accurate with his interruption. He would have chewed his lower lip but it was still tender from where he’d all but bitten through it earlier on.

“I guess...I saw a therapist a few years ago and she just stuck me on antidepressants...it worked for a while and then it just seemed to make things worse and now...I’m not sure if finding out there’s something wrong would be a relief or terrifying.”

“Maybe...maybe this time will be better. They might be able to help..and maybe then your dad can’t ignore it...if there’s an actual diagnosis I mean...why...why do you call him Larry anyway?”

“Does it matter?” he snapped and he could see Evan visibly flinch. Fuck, “...sorry...I uh...I haven’t called him dad since I was like...eleven, Not like he’s been much of an influential father figure, huh? Not when we spend half the time screaming at each other.”

“Oh...I guess...”

“Can we change the topic? I’m already feeling pissed today and talking about Larry isn’t helping much.”

“Of course! Sorry for bringing it up...”

“You don’t need to apologise...I’m just feeling shitty.”

And so they talked. Even when Connor was brought his lunch- which was shit, because it was hospital food- they still talked, about anything that came to their minds. And it was nice, even if he had to force himself not to snap on several occasions, the tension still buzzing in his ears. All too soon, it was time for his appointment and Heidi had returned. Apparently she’d offered to bring him down. She smiled at Evan, kissing the top of his head affectionately and saying that she was on a break after this and that she’d drop him home then, that there was some left over pizza in the refrigerator, as well as some frozen chips.

For him though, it was time to face the music.


	11. Connor Realises Things II

Seeing a psychiatrist had definitely been amongst the most terrifying and the best things Connor had ever done. The session had been...well, different than he’d expected. It had been terrifying but not quite as intimidating as he’d expected and had largely been the psychiatrist quietly asking him questions, lightly probing for answers but never pushing too far and always pulling back whenever there were signs of him beginning to get distressed.

Not that they’d given any sort of diagnosis, apparently they would need a few more sessions to have a more definitive idea, but it was a start, he supposed. It didn’t feel like he’d really made any progress, but they’d warned him that that was a natural feeling after the first session. These things took time apparently, an idea that didn’t sit overly well with his impatient nature but he’d forced himself to swallow and nod and reminded himself to try and take a deep breath before he ended up wanting to throw something or punch a wall. He wasn’t sure the shrink would appreciate it if he left a hole in their wall.

At least he wasn’t asked to write letters to himself. Evan was a nice guy but the letters were kinda weird and he wasn’t exactly sure how they were helping him, especially given Evan’s trouble being positive about his day in general. Not that he could blame him, rather he understood perfectly.

After he’d seen the psychiatrist, they’d brought him to have a shower given that he was up and about; something which he was pretty sure helped more than the actual psychiatrist did. Even though he’d still been able to wash, it just wasn’t the same and to be able to properly stand under the hot spray and just let it cascade over him, cleaning the grease from his hair was an indescribable feeling. He’d probably spent a bit too long in there, and they’d asked him if he was okay when he shuffled out, reclad in some more sleep pants and another old baggy band t shirt he’d had since ninth grade. He’d blinked, vaguely confused before nodding and they’d left it at that before escorting him back to his room.

To his surprise, his mom hadn’t been waiting for him there, which was odd given that she’d barely left the hospital since he’d been admitted, but part of him was a little relieved. Perhaps it was selfish, but while he loved his mom, she could get a little...smothering at times. It was her way of trying to help, of trying to fix things but a lot of the time it was too much for him. It was harder to fight with her than with Larry or Zoe. Zoe gave as good as she got, and he only had to be in the same room as Larry to start an argument, but any time he’d lashed out at his mom, he could always see the sadness in her eyes that just reminded him of how much of a failure he was.

God, how many times had he let her down?

Too many times was the answer. Larry had a perpetual look of disappointment in his eyes when it came to Connor, but his mom had always held out that little bit of hope that someday her son wouldn’t be an asshole. No matter how many times he’d snapped at her, or lashed out or shut her down, no matter how many times he’d gotten high, or screamed or broken things.

His mom had the patience of a goddamn saint and he didn’t deserve that.

He knew it was largely his fault that her nerves were so frayed. He hadn’t exactly been an easygoing kid, not since he’d been little, and yet even though she could have given up on trying to get through to him. She must have tried a million different ways, he understood that, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d still felt so lost, so angry and distant. She hadn’t been able to properly understand how sometimes the anger just took over him until he could barely function other than to be controlled by it. He didn’t blame her, not really, given that he didn’t understand it himself. Maybe if he could, things would be different but the fact was that when he felt the white noise begin to buzz in his ears, he knew they were in for a bad time.

Now though?

Now he just felt shitty.

It almost always happened, he reminded himself, after he’d had a harsh episode of anger like earlier. He could go from wanting to punch someone to wanting to curl up and cry in a matter of minutes and now was no exception, even though he supposed that, apart from this morning, the day hadn’t been all that bad. But no matter how much he tried to concentrate on that, he couldn’t stop the thoughts, the reminder of how much of a failure he was to everyone.

And so he got back into bed and curled up in a ball, tugging the blankets over him. Facing the window so anyone passing by the door wouldn’t notice...he cried. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, because of course, he never just vaguely felt emotions. No, they always had to be practically overwhelming and draining. God, he just wanted some peace.

He didn’t even hear his mom come in until the bed dipped and he felt a hand rubbing over his back, a concerned voice speaking but he could barely make it out. Then he was being gently turned over and through the haze of tears he could see a worried look on her face. There he was again, worrying her. She didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve any of it but he just couldn’t fucking stop, could he?

Trying to catch his breath and only snivelling instead, he found himself desperately wrapping his arms around her, clutching as tightly as he could without hurting and burying his face in her shoulder. When her arms wrapped around him in return, one hand rubbing his back and the other carding through his still damp hair in a soothing manner, a fresh wave of tears overcame him.

“I’m sorry....I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” he whimpered between sniffs and god he was probably ruining her shirt, as if he hadn’t given her enough reasons throughout his life for her to hate him.

“Sssshhh, honey,” he could hear her murmur in his ear as she continued to rub his back, and he could feel her press her lips against the top of his head, “It’s okay, honey. Momma’s got you. Momma’s here.”

“I d-d-don’t get it...I’m such a...a... _an ass_....how d-do you not h-hate me? L-Larry does...”

With that he was pulled into another tight hug before his mother was pulling away and gently cupping his face, thumb lightly brushing away the tears as they fell and pushing the hair away from his forehead. Even now, she was still so gentle, so kind.

“Connor, listen to me. I could never hate you and your father certainly doesn’t either. He’s a very stubborn man who doesn’t have any clue how to deal with teenagers, but he doesn’t hate you. He just doesn’t understand. And I never could nor will I ever hate you. You’re my baby boy, Connor; no matter how big you get and no matter what. You’re not an ass. Yes, sometimes, you’re difficult but Connor that will never mean that I love you any less. I’m your mother and I will be here for you, no matter what. You’re going through a really rough time right now, and I promise you I will be here to help you through it, no matter how tough it gets.”

Well fuck, if he hadn’t been crying before he was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I've also started a companion series for oneshots of smol Connor called 'When He Was A Little Boy' so you should totally go check that out too. Thanks for reading!


	12. Evan II

Evan had mixed feelings about school.

On one hand, he liked his classes, generally liked what he was studying, but on the other hand it also ended up getting him into situations he really wished he didn’t get into. Like having to give presentations in class, or being picked on to answer or a question, or more recently, having the attention of what felt like the entire school body on him wherever he went because as far as they were concerned, he was friends with the school psychopath.

Well it was true, wasn’t it?

So they hadn’t really been friends originally but now...well, they were friends, weren’t they? Granted they hadn’t done much beyond sit and talk but there was only so much they could do while Connor was still hospital bound and they’d talked about things that Evan rarely talked about with anyone else. There was a certain...well, understanding there, even if he was still getting used to Connor’s fluctuating moods. He was however beginning to learn how to spot the signs of whenever Connor was in a bad mood, or when he was feeling upset, and he counted that an achievement.

Everyone kept coming up to him though, asking how Connor was, if he could bring their various cards or words to him, which was rather ironic given that he was fairly sure that none of them had even spoken to Connor when he had been in school, particularly the freshmen who all seemed to be sobbing about it. He’d mentioned the cards and such to Connor, unsure if he would actually want them, only to receive a scoff from the other teenager who’d told him that he could burn them for all he cared, he didn’t want any words of pity from kids who thought they knew him. This left Evan with the job of trying to publicly turn away all the cards without being rude about it.

Zoe apparently just told them to fuck off.

Admittedly that would have been easier but he would have never gotten the words out. Maybe it would have gotten them off his back. Still, thankfully Zoe had noticed his struggle and tended to come help him out when she noticed that happening. He’d been talking more with her as well since this all started, something which he’d never thought would happen. And it was nice. There wasn’t anything there, just being...friends, he supposed? But it was nice.

And of course there was still Jared who never seemed to quit teasing him about it all.

Speaking of Jared...

“Well, well, well, not skipping to go visit your boyfriend today?”

The arm around his shoulder made him tense and he gripped the straps of his backpack a little more tightly, eyes darting around in the hopes that no one else in the corridor had heard Jared. Of course, everyone had probably heard because Jared was never quiet about anything and god, now everyone else was going to start spreading rumours.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Evan hissed, trying to wiggle out from underneath Jared’s arm, his face flushing bright red, “We’re just...we’re just friends.”

“Ah I see, get in close so when he shoots up the school, he’ll kill you a little less, huh?”

“He’s not going to shoot up the school, Jared!”

Jared pulled back a little, finally releasing his grip and raising an eyebrow that clearly stated his disbelief. Jared’s vocalised opinions of Connor always made him uncomfortable, especially now that he’d gotten to know Connor better, gotten to understand him in a way.

“Y-you shouldn’t m-m-make jokes like that anyway...” he stammered, ducking his head and blinking rapidly as he tried to remember what his first class was. English, wasn’t it? He’d promised Connor he’d keep a track of the work and reading and let him know because apparently English was one of the classes that the other teen actually cared about.

“Oh calm down, Evan, it’s funny! Anyway, my folks are out tonight and I’ve access to the liquor cabinet, you in?”

“I...uh...I can’t....I’m..uh...going to the hospital after school with Zoe...”

“Two Murphys in one go...I’m so proud, they grow up so quickly,” Jared sniffed, pretending to wipe away a tear before laughing, “So, what, do you just sit there and stare at them or something? Or can you actually formulate words in front of either Murphy sibling now without your hands getting sweaty?”

“We talk! About lots of things!” Evan panicked, pulling at the hem of his t shirt as he tried to figure out what the hell he was going to say. Thankfully, however, his day was saved in the form of Zoe Murphy appearing out of the crowd and making her way over to him.

“Hey Ev, you’re still good for after school, right? Oh and mom says if you want you can come back to ours for dinner, but she’s making more weird shit so if you want I can make up an excuse for you,” she sent him a small smile that he couldn’t help but return, a feeling of relief coursing through him at the fact that she seemed to understand his nervousness about those sorts of things.

“Y-yeah, I’m good for then...I th-think I’ll pass on dinner though...” he smiled nervously, grateful for the interruption and the fact that the bell was about to go which meant that while he still had to deal with Jared, it was in the context of a classroom and that was a little bit easier.

It was a blessing that the school day seemed to go by pretty quickly and he was only approached by people with cards two or three times. The amount of people with them seemed to be dying down a little, perhaps because of the refusal of them or just because it had been going on for a few weeks now. Lunch was the worst time, and when he usually tended to hide out either in the library or in the computer lab where people generally wouldn’t look for him.

He’d also had a free period before the end of the day which meant that it was easy to get out at the end of the day and find Zoe’s car, hovering nervously by it until she finally showed up and the drive to the hospital began.

“Sorry I was a little late. Mom called from the hospital. Connor’s had a bit of a rough weekend...” she bit her lip as she drove, glancing at him in the mirror and Evan had to pause for a moment to find the words to say.

“Maybe...maybe he needs some time then....I don’t want to upset him or a-anything...” he stammered, staring at his feet uncertainly.

“Actually, I think you visiting him will help. He prefers you visiting than any of the rest of us. Plus, the two of you seem to get on well...he likes you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him have a friend until now...not really. He just screamed at us and locked himself in his room but now...it feels like I might get my brother back,” Zoe glanced at him briefly and when he looked up he could see how much she meant it. It made his face flush because, well really, he wasn’t doing much. Just visiting and talking a little bit with Connor.

“I..uh...I haven’t done much really...just what any f-friend would do.”

“I know the two of you weren’t actually friends before this Evan.”

The statement shocked him and he looked up like a deer caught in the headlights, his mouth moving but no sound was coming out as he began to panic.

“Breathe Ev. I’m not going to say anything to my mom. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy as when she thought Connor had a friend. And besides, you’re friends now so what difference does it make? And it’s helping him too....Look, Connor and I don’t have a great track record when it comes to our relationship. We’ve had some _really_ bad times. Part of it is my fault too, I guess. I’ve been horrible to him too sometimes. But I’m beginning to think that...maybe now...maybe we can start over. It’s not going to be easy, hell, Connor doesn’t make anything easy...but we can try. And I’m glad that you’re here.”

“...uh...thanks?”


	13. A Good Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay in uploading, life has been pretty hectic and I haven't really felt like writing but here have this chapter! I'm also working on another idea involving theatre tech!Evan and dancer!Connor, so maybe that will be up soon as well!

Connor was glad to be home.

Correction, Connor was glad to be out of the hospital, but whether he could honestly say that he was glad to be home was another statement. At home meant no constant checkups by nurses and doctors, no shitty hospital food and not being stuck in one room under constant supervision all day. However it did mean being under the near constant supervision of his mom, no door on his bedroom and a statistically higher chance of running into Larry at any given moment. Plus his mom’s weird dietary choices, although she’d been oddly decent with food since he’d arrived home. Whether that had anything to do with him or whether it was just a phase, he wasn’t sure, but they’d all been grateful for it.

As for his bedroom door, well, it was currently residing in the garage until they trusted him enough to not off himself at the first chance he got.

At least he now had free access to all his books and belongings rather than having to ask for people to bring things in for him. Evan had been bringing him school work as well, partially collected by himself and partially by a slightly over exuberant Alana Beck who hadn’t stopped messaging him on nearly every possible platform that she knew about, offering schoolwork, someone to talk to, help if he needed it. He sort of appreciated the sentiment, but at the same time, it was just a tad annoying. She was....a little overwhelming in his opinion.

Overall things had been...different. Not better but not worse either. Larry had barely been around and when he had been hadn’t said much, so they hadn’t really had any arguments yet. He hadn’t felt like necessarily doing himself any harm yet, but it was still early days and the lack of privacy kind of hindered that anyway. He and Zoe hadn’t had a fight yet, although he could tell that they’d both been holding back saying some snarky comments that probably would have set them into an argument. They’d been treading carefully, occasionally sharing a semi-decent conversation.

It was a start, he supposed.

He didn’t want to go back to school though. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could put it off to his mom, particularly given that physically he was healed, plus he had the shitload of medications he’d been prescribed and his weekly therapy sessions with the shrink. It didn’t mean he was going to get better straight away, which he was pretty sure was what his parents would have liked. Hell, he didn’t even know if he would ‘get better’. But going back to school meant facing the masses, facing all the people who would stop and stare, who would point and whisper and eye the scar on his neck like he was something in a shop window at Christmas.

Nor was he sure he could sit through the hours of class.

Hell, he needed a smoke. Unfortunately, he had absolutely zero chance of getting one anytime soon given the vigil on him, plus he’d run his stock dry before his attempt, thinking that he wouldn’t have to worry about that again.  His foresight had clearly been lacking on that one.

“Honey? Evan’s here to see you.”

The words from his mother snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up from where he was lying across the couch, swinging his legs across as the other teen came into the room, clad in his usual blue shirt and Connor’s name still scrawled in large block letters across his cast. He managed a half hearted smile as Evan came and perched on the armchair, briefly noting Zoe coming in behind him and looking over the two of them before disappearing upstairs with nothing but the faintest of smiles and nods in his direction.

“I uh...I brought you some of the homework from English? I figured since you like reading, you wouldn’t mind that as much but I think Alana has some from chemistry...but I didn’t see her today so I didn’t get that and you probably wanted that as well-“

“Evan. Cool it. I honestly couldn’t care less about homework at the minute,” he sighed, dropping his head back against the arm of the couch,  “I’ll probably look at it later when I feel less like drilling through my kneecaps would be a preferable option.”

Okay, probably not the best choice of words given Evan’s brief look of alarm, but he seemed to cotton on pretty quickly that Connor wasn’t going to start taking an electric tool to himself for the fun of it. Although to be quite honest, anything would be preferable to staying at home at the minute. Which gave him an idea.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“T-tonight? I...I was going to do homework I guess...and...I didn’t really have anything planned...”

“Good.  We’re gonna go over to yours, I’m gonna order pizza and we’re gonna watch shitty movies and eventually do our homework. You up for it?”

“I...sure, I guess...but your mom...”

“Mom?” Connor called out, waiting for Cynthia to poke her head around the corner of the kitchen door, a small smile on her face, “Can I go over to Evan’s for the night? We were gonna have a movie night and get some homework done.”

The expression on his mom’s face contorted, somewhere between excitement that he actually had a friend and wanted to go to their house, and reluctance to let him out of her sight. For a moment, he wondered if she would say no, but then her face settled into a delighted smile and he let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

“That sounds lovely dear. Do you need me to drive the two of you over?”

Connor glanced at Evan before nodding, “That would be great...I’m uh...I’m just gonna get some things together.”

“You’re not going to stay for dinner?”

“We were gonna get some pizza...you know...boys night and all that.”

Lord, those words had never left his lips before and nor did he ever want to say them again because he was practically cringing but at least it got his mom off his case and she drove them round without too much more hassle.

“Your mom leave you money for pizza?” he asked Evan as they wandered through the door and he took the opportunity to look around. He’d never seen Evan’s home before but it was kind of what he’d expected. Neat, orderly and with rather an abundance of house plants scattered around. He’d found about the pizza money thing from one of their chats, when Evan had shakily recounted how his mom always left money but he could never bring himself to order anything himself.

“On the kitchen counter,” Evan nodded nervously, wringing his hands together.

“Pepperoni good? I’ll order,” Connor couldn’t help but notice how Evan seemed to visibly relax the moment he realised he didn’t have to order,  and he made a mental note to keep any eye out for anything similar in the future.

Tonight...tonight was going to be a good night.

And when Heidi Hansen came home from her shift later that night, the image of the two boys fast asleep and half curled around each other on the sofa, an empty pizza box on the coffee table and the DVD menu on repeat on the television, well, she just had to smile.


End file.
